


There, Out in the Darkness

by SilverWolf338



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Experimental Style, Fix it of sorts, Gen, OC may have a mental and/or learning disability/illness, late 60s early 70s, self indulgent fic, takes places before the comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolf338/pseuds/SilverWolf338
Summary: In which Rorschach is injured and our main character's conscience gets the better of her.WARNING: This is probably super out of character for Rorschach. So read at your own risk. Also, it an odd style, idk, I was sort of experimenting and I'm not sure how it comes across.
Relationships: Rorschach & Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	There, Out in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an alternate universe with no crazy plot by Adrien, because I want a redemption arc for Rorschach and I think he is a bit of an ass, but why not make a fix it fic with some bandaging each others wounds on the side? Maybe I should just get into Question lol.

_It’s dangerous to go outside at night,_ one of the little voices in Christine's mind cautions her, and she hesitates at the warning, body wavering as she balances on the window sill. But the luring call of the moon overpowers any sensibilities she might have as the moon’s rays peek through the clouds. Hauling herself through the window, she perches on the fire escape, basking in the light of the moon.

“Stars,” she sings under her breath, eyes gazing ever upwards, her mind still worrying about being an annoyance to others. “In their multitudes.” She continues to hum as she basks in the light of the moon, and falls silent as she listens to the sounds of the city. The ragged gasps and muffled mutterings break the cacophony of the night life. _Disgusting_. A voice spits. _People will have sex in the dirties of places._

 _That isn’t what those sounds are,_ another brokenly observes, and she fearfully peers down into the alleyway that the source is slowly moving down. A lone figure staggers against the wall and slides into some garbage, piling it up around themselves. One pitiful groan floats to her and her heart breaks at the sound.

 _Go_ \- but it barely even registers as a thought as she jumps up and runs down through the back door. She searches for the hat and overcoat that are her only clues of the silhouetted figure that had entered the alley.

“Hello?” she calls lowly, trying to be heard but also trying to not bother any of the other tenants. “I saw that you're hurt, I would like to help.”

Another low groan leads her closer, and she crouches to dig through the trash when it moves and she's looking at a mesmerizing black and white pattern.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a hoarse voice demands.

“Trying to help,” she murmurs confidently, despite how shaky and anxious she feels. She scans what little of the figure she can see, trying to figure out if she can see any discernible injuries.

“Why.”

“Be-because it’s the right thing to do and I’d feel guilty if I didn’t at least try-”

“Don't need help.” His voice comes out as a growl and she suppresses a shiver. _Down girl,_ she reprimanded herself.

“Look, you don't seem to be in such great shape and you could have people coming after you right? I'm offering shelter and some medical supplies. I don't have formal medical training, but my mom was a nurse, I know how to help.” She pauses, the edge of her words echoing in her mind and she winces at how she's threatening a potentially very dangerous individual. Christine rocks back on her heels and holds out her hand. “Please. I guess I could just also call 911-”

“I will come up with you,” he grounds out, a relieved sigh leaves her as his gloved hand grabs hers and she pulls him up, ushering him into the building through the back door. 

“So, what's your name?” she asks when they're finally safe in her apartment. He was able to stay on both of his feet when they were walking up, but a hand is pressed into his side and he falls onto the couch. 

“Rorschach.” Christine rushes to get the first aid kit, calling out the location of the bathroom, and resolving to put down more medical supplies on her shopping list once she's done, mind racing at having threatened _the_ Rorschach. _Like an idiot._ The procured item is clutched to her chest as she takes in the masked figure in proper lighting. He seemed shorter than her as they had walked (which feels odd, she was 5'8'', but it's _Rorschach_ , and he always seemed larger than life, a mythical man like an ancient god), and his mask is swirling in mesmerizing shapes, the back of her mind tingling in recognition of the patterns, but no name coming to mind as she hands him the kit, setting down a bowl of water with some twoels.

“Rorschach...” As he digs through the supplies, her eyes scan his figure for injuries. _Not that I can see much with the coat and suit in the way... wait, is he waiting so that he can?_ “I'll be in the kitchen, so you can get a better look at...” she gestures helplessly at him, knowing her face is suffused in red. “Let me know if you need help with anything. Would you like some soup? I have a lot of leftovers and would be happy to heat them up for you.” He shakes his head once sharply.

“No, I'll be fi-” The grumble of his stomach causes a giggle to tumble out.

“I'll heat up some food for you.” Christine is on autopilot as she moves around in the kitchen, occasionally stirring the soup so it doesn't burn. She heats up a stuffed pepper she'd made that day and cuts a few slices of bread, adding a crock of butter onto the plate, her mind wandering over to her unexpected guest. Now that she knew his identity, she's surprised that she convinced him to let her help him. _It was the threat of taking him to the hospital,_ she realizes, feeling anxiety rise in her throat at the idea that someone would avoid going to the hospital to the point of letting a poorly supplied individual helping them. But then again, Rorschach is an unusual character, and she doubts he has many friends to turn to.

“I know you don’t want to go to the hospital, but is there anyone I can call for you? Someone you trust to help you?” He hesitates, and his voice is soft when he finally lets out a no. _He sounds fragile_. Or maybe she was projecting. She wraps a towel around a rather warm bowl and prepares to join him.

“Do you need any help?” she calls out. A frustrated groan is all she gets in response, so she enters the living room. His shoe is off and a pale, scraggly foot is loosely wrapped in a bandage. She clucks her tongue at the haphazard work, but goes back to the kitchen after setting the bowl on the table. A glass of water in one hand and the plate in the other, she hands him the glass, then sets the plate next to the bowl and kneels at his feet. Her hands are inches away from his skin when she remembers herself. “Lay it on me.”

“Bad ankle, need to wrap it.” She nods and rerolls the bandage.

“Do you mind if I do it then? Seems like medicine might not be your calling,” she jokes, then immediately winces. _Using humor as a way to lighten the mood isn't appreciated._ He nods though and she smiles at him, grateful he isn't taking offense. “Feel free to help yourself.” _His mask._ “I'll just stay focused on wrapping your ankle up.” She briefly considers offering to put a blanket over his lap and on her head so he can be sure she won't peek, but dismisses it for being too weird. Slowly, she secures the bandage, and wraps it over the arch of his foot, moving up to his ankle and shin. Christine tries to ensure that she doesn't touch him, she doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, but her hands still occasionally graze his skin. With a final satisfactory nod, she turns and gets up, knees cracking back into place as she bustles back into the kitchen, cleaning up the now dirty pot and tupperware. A gruff shout fills the air and she sprints to him, heart pounding and adrenaline racing, ready to-

An orange blur that is her cat scampers past her and she looks around wildly for what could have alarmed the man before her. His mask is swirling madly.

“Why ya flipping your lid?” she asks him, not able to hide the anxiety that's coming off as exasperation in her voice.

“Your mangy cat scared the shit out of me.” She almost laugh, but lets out a sigh of relief instead, a little surprised that the great Rorschach was terrified by her sweet and shy cat. But she doesn't have a death wish, so she smiles at him apologetically.

“Sorry about that. Ladey can be quite stealthy when she wants to.” He is silent but his mask's patterns are no longer changing frantically, and thankfully, he finished the food prior to being scared, so there's no mess for her to clean up. She goes back to get him another glass of water. _He is far too skinny,_ and her heart aches at the observation. Christine stacks the bowl onto the plate and grabs the empty glass, putting them into the sink and is immediately treated as a tree by her cat, who climbs to her shoulder. She smiles at the feline's attempts to scent mark her and strokes a soft cheek before washing the dishes. Finally, she finishes up in the kitchen, and she stands at the sink, mind whirling at how she might be able to further help the masked vigilante. She bends down and grabs a paper bag and places the loaf of bread, then adds a few apples and an unopened jar of peanut butter. She writes in thick script RORSCHACH on the top of the bag and sets it nervously on her kitchen table before going back to her guest.

“Well, feel free to stay as long as you want, take whatever you need, and I'll bring out some towels for you in case you'd like to use the shower.” She doesn't stay long enough for a response, rushing to the bathroom to get the towels out for him, half hoping that he takes her offer of hospitality and stays until he's safe, but knowing that he'd never do such a thing. She wants to know what happened, wants to know who he fought with and why. But she bites her tongue and makes herself stand in front of the intimidating man.

“I'm going to bed. My offer still stands.” She's about to close the door to her bedroom (her cat cradled in her arms) when she pokes her head back out. “Also, I put some food in a bag for you... and if you ever need anything, you. I-. If sometime in the future, you need something, I'd be honored if you came back.” His mask changes pattern once and she smiles weakly at him before murmuring goodnight and shutting the door. She drops her cat and flops onto the bed with a muffled groan. _Like hell he'd come back._

**Author's Note:**

> Women born in the 40s had an average height of around 5'4'', meaning Christine is a whopping four inches taller than most of her peers. She is an original character because the OOC idea of Rorschach taking refuge in someone's apartment and slowly becoming friends with them just wouldn't leave me alone. The idea has since escaped me. 
> 
> I also toyed with the idea of Rorschach asking Christine to call a Dan Dreiberg, but decided against it. Now I have plans to incorporate our favorite sweet boy into the story, but I think that this will be a standalone for now.
> 
> Also Ladey is short for Marmalade, yes this is my future naming plans for an orange kitty, I'm very original. 
> 
> Unfortunately, this work was not beta'd, but if you're interested, PM me!


End file.
